


A Sailor at Midnight Came Ashore

by fosfomifira



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Class Differences, Class Issues, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Facials, First Meetings, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Pre-Canon, Rimming, Sexual Content, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fosfomifira/pseuds/fosfomifira
Summary: Edward Little does not think of himself as a fortunate man, but in a town teeming with horny sailors and marines he might find what he truly needs.
Relationships: Edward Little/Solomon Tozer
Comments: 22
Kudos: 27
Collections: Lieutenant and Sergeant Gift Exchange, The Terror Bingo





	A Sailor at Midnight Came Ashore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TomBowline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/gifts).



> Many thanks to [Zsazsa4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zsazsa4/pseuds/Zsazsa4) for betaing, to D for being her usual supportive self in a fandom not her own, and [cherrytart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytart/pseuds/cherrytart) for her all around encouragement. 
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from Elizabeth Sargeant's _A Sailor at Midnight_
> 
> Written for the Objectification square on my Terror Bingo card.

Lieutenant Edward Little should know better than to put himself in this position. This is no place for a man of his rank, let alone for any manner of gentlemen, yet here he finds himself again, his eyes closed. He couldn’t possibly be more vulnerable than he already is: naked, bent over a desk, legs spread wide, his arms resting by his side.

“Spread yourself. Let me see you where you want me,” a voice says. The accent is working class, Northern. Despite the coarse words there’s an unmistakable air of command. 

As far as orders go Edward Little has never heard one he was more secretly eager to obey. His breath catches in his throat, a whimper escapes his mouth thinking of what’s to come next. He so desperately wants to give what’s asked of him, but his body will not obey. 

Edward shivers. Before there’s any contact between their bodies he can feel the heat of the other man’s body. There’s the rasp of wool clothing against his bare skin, rough hands on his back. A line is traced down his spine, the curve of his arse is caressed. 

“Need help, do you? Can’t imagine why an officer such as yourself would have trouble following simple instructions.” 

Christ, Edward doesn’t know how the man manages to sound mocking and caring at the same time. It gets to him, the accent and the rumble, all of it whispered to his ear and straight to his cock. 

The man puts his hands on top of Edward’s, letting him feel just how much bigger they are, the rasp of his callouses. He moves Edward as if he was but a marionette, lightly placing Edward’s hands on his arse just so. Edward knows what the man is about to do, but he has neither the will nor the desire to make him stop. His hands spread his arse cheeks slowly, letting him feel every second of it. Perhaps the man is teasing himself as he makes Edward burn with shame. 

Edward can feel cool air against his opening at last. The man’s hands on top of his are rough, pressing so hard it hurts, his care a thing of the past. The thought crosses Edward’s mind that he might be bruising his own arse, grabbing it so strongly. It’s time to stop thinking, for that is the very purpose of this exercise. He can feel his blood pounding in his head, his cock. Tears dot his eyelashes as a dribble of liquid forms at the head of his cock.

The man pulls back slightly, the tickle of his coat no longer caressing Edward’s back. 

“Would you look at that. You’d think you have a virgin arse just to look at you. If you didn’t know any better, if I didn’t know how badly it wants to be plowed.” He sounds appreciative, like a trader remarking on an animal for sale at the market.

“What a shy, hungry little thing,” he chuckles and Edward feels himself fluttering, clenching against a touch he knows he won’t receive just yet.

“I know better, though. So hungry for it, ain’t it? Never seen such a greedy little hole. I give it my best every time, but it keeps asking for more.”

Edward opens his eyes. His neck hurts, but he can see over his shoulder: his marine sergeant, his red coat spotlessly clean, his hair neatly brushed. For the first time this evening their eyes meet. The man’s eyes sparkle with a kind of glee that would seem out of place during an encounter such as this, but Edward has learnt better by now. The sergeant simply enjoys a job well done.

“I trust you’ve done as I asked, lieutenant.”

Edward knows he must look confused. “A gentleman should keep himself thoroughly clean at all times,” the man clarifies.

Edward nods. He did bathe before leaving his rooms headed here. He took a washcloth and blushed as he took his time cleaning between his legs. He knows this act is particular fondness of the sergeant. 

“Good,” his marine says, crouching until he’s all but sitting on his own heels, carefully keeping his balance. “Keep yourself open until I say so.”

Edward closes his eyes, letting his mind go. He can feel hands caressing his thighs, broad palms grabbing the muscles there. He can feel the tickle of the man’s whiskers, a tease of what’s to come. With his hands so busy there’s no chance of him grabbing his cock, tugging shamelessly at himself until he spends. No, the sergeant will make him wait at his pleasure.

It’s a messy affair, as it always is between them. The sergeant doesn’t hold back, his face all but buried in Edward’s arse, hot, wet kisses that seem to brand his skin. There’s nothing subtle here, no detached games played. It’s hunger meeting hunger, teeth rasping against sensitive skin, broad licks of a nimble tongue against his hole. It’s a struggle to keep himself open, but it’s also a gift for the sergeant’s hands are free to roam between Edward’s legs. He gently —and then not so gently— pulls at Edward’s stones, hard enough to make him moan. “That’s it, my pet. You know I always want to hear you.”

The sergeant is now on his knees, his mouth where his hands were but a moment ago. He all but suckles each stone, taking one and then the other into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Before meeting the marine Edward would have never asked for such an act, being of the opinion it didn’t feel good enough to justify the discomfort of the position, but now he finds himself going weak on his knees when the sergeant cares to touch him in such a way. 

The sergeant pushes Edward’s legs further apart, spitting between Edward’s hands. “There. Let’s see if your little hole swallows that, hey?”

Edward opens his eyes, his shame too much to bear alone. He can feel it, the muscles of his arsehole clenching open without him having to even think about it. The sergeant is grabbing Edward’s thighs, too entranced by the sight in front of him to notice Edward’s eyes on him. His attentions on Edward become more focused, devoted to the single goal of making Edward spend from the touch of his mouth alone. It’s a feat the sergeant has accomplished but one time, but one he keeps attempting despite Edward’s desperate cries for more. 

Edward can feel his hands slipping, his own sweat and the marine’s spit making it impossible to hold himself open. The marine’s hands are quick, their grip strong. He won’t let him go. Edward can feel the man groaning, grunting as if he’s devouring a feast after famine, Edward’s own voice choked with need, gasps that barely make any sound until he feels two broad thumbs breaching him, making room for Edward to be licked inside. There’s a shudder that runs down his spine, a pleasure so intense he almost doesn’t feel when come spurts out, his untouched cock spending his release, waves and waves of pleasure clenching against those thumbs, that tickling tongue, lips kissing his stones until Edward can feel no more.

The touch of a wet washcloth on his skin brings Edward back to the present. He hasn’t moved since he spent, but the sergeant has been busy. Edward can see his boots by a chair, his coat carefully placed on a hanger. His feet hardly make a sound as he moves back and forth, squeezing dirty water onto the basin as he cleans Edward. The man is humming some song or another, his mood cheerful, as if he’s quite taken with the task at hand. 

“Come on, my lieutenant,” the sergeant says, grabbing Edward’s right arm, pulling just hard enough to force him back to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”

The sheets are cool under Edward’s skin as he sits on the bed. The sergeant lays next to him, one hand rubbing idly at his hard cock over his trousers.

“Thank you,” Edward says, his voice hoarse. He lies on his back, grateful to give his sore neck a rest. Silence should hang heavy and awkward between them, but Edward feels much too at peace to care. The heat in his blood has been replaced by something else, a sense of ease with himself he rarely finds. The sergeant leans over for a gentle kiss before standing up, his mouth tasting of the wine Edward brought over. He undresses in front of Edward not before lighting the lamps in the room. 

He comes back to bed, resting half on top of Edward, his head heavy on Edward’s chest. 

“I wish you’d call me by my name.”

There’s nothing sentimental to the sergeant’s voice, but Edward can feel the need all the same. Theirs had been a peculiar first encounter, driven by Edward’s need and drunkenness as much as by the sergeant’s boldness. In the cold light of day Edward could hardly believe what he’d done, let alone what he’d asked to be done to him. Mere chance had brought them together. It wasn’t the done thing to exchange names, but an idea had formed deep inside Edward, and so he made his request to meet again. “Call me Edward,’ he’d said.

“Sergeant Solomon—”, but Edward had silenced him with a kiss. There was no need to know more. Despite this he refused to think of Solomon as anything but his rank, a lie to himself.

“I do know,” Edward whispers. He squirms under Solomon’s weight, shifting until they’re both laying on their sides, their mouths close enough for a kiss. Solomon’s lips are rough, as if he was recently away at sea. His kisses can be soft all the same, a touch of tenderness a gift Edward finds he doesn’t know how to hold, as fragile as a bird in his hands.

“Come on, then,” Solomon says, “give us a hand.”

The angle is awkward, and so Solomon makes himself comfortable straddling Edward’s body. It makes for a handsome sight, for the sergeant is indeed a well-made man. Broad, firm chest covered with a spattering of hair and even broader shoulders, a torso that speaks both of a healthy enjoyment of food and drink and strenuous exercise. Solomon enjoys being watched, that much Edward has learnt, and so he lets his appreciation be clear, past his natural reserves. Though his own hunger has been sated for the day Solomon’s cock remains a magnificent tool, fat and smooth in its considerable length, ruddy red and beautifully wet at the tip. Edward does its best to bring him pleasure, but he’s far too tired to give Solomon the frig he wants.

“Here,” Solomon says, “I’ll take care of myself. Just you watch. I want your pretty eyes on me, Edward.”

It’s a challenge to decide where to look: a face so expressive in its pleasure or those big hands on that big cock. Whether Solomon himself knows where he prefers to be looked at Edward doesn’t know, his eyes focused on Solomon’s arms, the slow dance of muscles under the skin as Solomon tugs at his own cock, his breath fast and shallow as he comes all over Edward’s chest, dirtying him up all over again.

There really isn’t time for much, but the sergeant always insists on kissing and holding before he leaves. It’s a peculiar habit, but Edward finds it comforting all the same. 

Bells ring on a nearby church, marking the end of the hour. It’s time for them to leave. Solomon washes himself quickly, dressing up with the haste and smartness of long habit. He is always the first to leave. 

“Next week?”

“Next week,” Edward nods.

It’s a good thing Edward always asks for extra water, flannels and soap to clean himself after their encounters. He knows he’ll be a disgrace by the time it’s over, all manner of bodily fluids drying on his skin and hair. Most times he can hardly walk by the time he makes his way back to his rooms. Washing himself once again gives him the chance to put himself back to pieces, no more Edward, but Lieutenant Edward Little, of no ship and with no hopes of a posting on the horizon.

Edward’s rooms are modest, located in a quiet part of town. Many naval officers reside there, all of them on half-pay, all of them desperate for an assignment anywhere. Edward often wishes he could afford to stay somewhere else, away from the everyday reminders of his failed career. 

The walk gives time for thoughts to haunt Edward’s mind. What a strange twist of fate led him to meet Solomon. A dark night where he’d drunk far more than he should, not a single friend in sight. He’d just received yet another letter letting him know that his inquiries had born no fruit. Someone else had been appointed to the blessed posting that Edward had set his eyes on. It seemed rather pointless to not to give in to temptation, and so he’d drunk and drunk some more. 

Perhaps he should have lost all decency and collapsed in the pub, but something made him step out, the cold from the night waking him up just enough to let the worst of the haze fade away from his mind. Edward was drunk, but above all things he was lonely.

What an absurd realisation to have, Edward thought to himself. Such was the way of the world, the path he’d carved for himself. He’d managed to make few friends during his career, his was not a name of influence, nor was he skilled at leading a conversation. He couldn’t afford to invite others to round after round of drink and then more. And even if he had limitless funds, Edward’s own inclinations laid elsewhere. He could, perhaps, look for temporary company, but the very thought depressed him. Edward was not in the mood to be called “sir” by an indifferent-looking young man, more interested in his coin than the strange fancies that lurked in Edward’s mind. He kept on walking home, street after street until he found himself in a rougher part of town, one where officers rarely visited. Perhaps he could afford one more drink and then head back to his bed for good.

A door opened in front of Edward and a man walked out, his feet only slightly unsteady because of drink. He made his way to an alley and relieved himself, seemingly without a care in the world. A nearby streetlight allowed Edward to take a better look at the man: somewhat taller than Edward himself, much broader. A sergeant with the Royal Marines if his coat was any indication. A handsome face, even in the shadows, a big prick, even soft.

An idea came to Edward, foolish and wild. He certainly had no way to know if the man would share his inclinations, even for a few coins. It could lead to utter disaster, but recklessness raced through his veins and no thought would stop him. He tripped over his own feet in his haste to make his way to the marine, all of his confidence suddenly deserting him.

The man looked at him, his right hand still on his prick, his left supporting his weight against the wall. He was rather handsome indeed, in a suitably rough kind of way. Dark eyes that looked confused for a second, only for a calculating aspect to come on his face. 

“Sir,” he said, a mocking voice, Northern accent. 

Edward licked his lips, a terrible thought crossing his mind. To ask such a thing from a complete stranger, in such a place. Oh, it’d be the height of foolishness, but was this night devoted to anything but?

This sort of thing rarely required for words to be exchanged and Edward had never been skilled at finding them. The marine looked at him, his expression one of professional patience, just shy of mockingly respectful. 

“Alright, then,” he whispered under his breath, nodding to a dark alley nearby. He tucked himself back into his trousers and walked away in that very direction, not bothering to wait for Edward to finally find his words. 

The alley smelled awful, rank and wet. Sitting in an abandoned box the marine waited for him, his legs spread. He smoked a cigarette, looking at Edward through the smoke. “All yours, sir.”

What a shame it was to go down on his knees like this, dirt on Edward’s uniform, his fingers clumsy and eager as he undid the buttons and took the stranger’s cock out. It tasted just as Edward expected, a fantasy he had never yet indulged. He quickly lost himself in the act, the cock hard and hot in his mouth, the quick rhythm of the man’s hips pushing in and out of Edward’s mouth, his hands strong on Edward’s hair. There was hardly any noise, nothing but wet slurping, loud breathing, choked wimpers. A heavier pull on his hair the common warning to let Edward know it was time to pull away, but he didn’t move fast enough.

“I know of a place where we could take our time,” Edward said, wiping his chin as he rose to his feet. “If you care to meet again.”

The marine looked at him up and down, as if trying to take the measure of him. “You sure?”

It had hardly been the most auspicious of meetings. The next time they met it was in the rooms Edward selected. He’d been a regular visitor some time ago, back when he believed he’d soon take to sea, eager to drown his desires in strangers’s bodies.

There’s a lit fire waiting for Edward when he arrives at his rooms. He quickly undresses himself, the cold of the night finally getting to him. 

How he wishes they could meet here and have the man walk around naked, sit naked on the dainty chairs his family paid for. The man should always be naked, strong and muscular like a Greek statue, but he’d wear no fig leaf, for the sergeant is blatantly sexual, his soft prick still eye-catchingly substantial as it rests against his thigh. 

There’s a bottle on his desk. Edward knows he should answer letters home, send more politely desperate inquiries about a position anywhere in the Navy, but all of his thoughts are about the hours spent with Solomon. 

Edward is a common enough name that he hadn’t seen the need to use a false one on their first encounter. Even though he’s been wearing his uniform, he was confident that there were more than enough Lieutenant Edward Somethings in Her Majesty’s Navy to go unnoticed. 

Solomon, on the other hand, had made a gift of his name and rank, one that Edward still struggled with. It was as intimate as a kiss after spending, their bodies still covered in sweat, hearts beating as wild as the sea in a storm. 

“Solomon.”

*

Edward has long had a fondness for sucking cock. It’s an easy enough fancy to satisfy, if one does not care for subtlety or the qualities of one’s partner beyond the obvious one. Which is why his arrangement with the sergeant is so satisfying. Yes, there’s a prick to be sucked and to lose himself in the act of doing so, but there’s a strong will in the man as well, one who seems to intuit Edward’s barely mentioned preferences, his need for command better than Edward himself.

It’s fortunate indeed that the sergeant had decided what games should indulge in this week. He sits with his legs spread, solid thighs look even thicker thus displayed. The buttons on his trousers he slowly undoes, one at the time, all the while staring at Edward in the eye. Only when his yard is out, half hard and already so very tempting, is that he deigns to say a word.

“On your knees, my lieutenant. Come to me.”

Edward loves to go down on his knees and take Solomon’s delicious prick when it’s still soft and feel his mouth water around it, swallow the drool and stop himself from sucking around it because he’s not allowed to do so until the order is given. It should be humiliating to be treated thus by an inferior in rank, but that is precisely the point. Here Edward holds no rank or station, has no privilege of birth or education. He is nothing but a body, eager to comfort and please, to be used and abused as a matter of play, one with barely hinted at rules and requests. 

Solomon drinks his ale, one bottle after the other. Looking at him, Edward shudders to think if they were to play that game again. For that most particular sport they need to find a new location, a place where absolutely no questions are asked. Still, that one time they indulged in such play had burnt Edward from the inside out, his face wet and hot with the man’s piss for a few brief moments before it was washed away, his shirt wet and ruined, the shock of surprise enough to make him come.

It’s one of the things Edward doesn’t allow himself to want, like so many fears and doubts vanished by someone else’s strength. To be marked as owned by another man’s fluids running burning hot down his face, brought down to his very core, tremblingly so by his needs. To be guided and praised and punished, his own will unsubstantial and unneeded.

Sitting on his knees, his mouth so occupied, Edward has a clear view of Solomon’s strong body. How Edward loves those broad shoulders. He could carry the world on them and not even notice. How broad those shoulders feel when he puts Edward’s legs over them. How strong Edward thinks the man, how easily he carries Edward’s own doubts and fears, as if they weigh no more than a cloud.

A strong pull on his hair brings Edward back to the moment. Solomon’s prick has hardened and he’s drooled all around it. 

“What a mess you make of yourself, Edward. What would people say if they could see you now, hey? A proper gentleman such as yourself should know better. You’re a far better cocksucker than this.”

There is shame beyond these doors, shame at the way he allows himself to wallow in his need for debasement, how he seeks this place where he has no knowledge of himself, relishing in a perverse manner of doubt no man should have about himself. There is certainty to be had if one follows instructions and keeps to one’s place. The world turns and the empire grows because of this. And yet here Edward seeks to undo all of it, driven by forces he has no understanding of, his desires something of a mystery to himself, unfathomable and impossible to chart. 

“Go on, then. Use that mouth of yours.”

Solomon likes him to take his time at first, play with every sensitive spot on his yard and his stones. He likes to look at Edward, stare right into his eyes as Edward uses his mouth, his hands supporting him against those thighs. He can’t look away from those brown eyes, shining bright with the kind of pure, shameless animal hunger Edward finds so hard to allow himself to enjoy. He moves his head back and forth, a rhythmic bobbing no faster than waves against the shore, his cheek suctioning just hard enough to make Solomon hiss with pleasure. Edward’s own prick is hard, trapped inside his clothes, so very desperate for touch he finds himself humping the sergeant’s leg, his body seeking release out of its own will.

“What a shameless little creature you turned out to be, Lieutenant Edward, rubbing yourself against my leg as if you have no self control. So unbecoming an officer you are.” He pulls him up by his hair, the very same hand that was so gently petting him just a moment ago now slaps his face. 

“You don’t get to go away, Edward. You stay right here with me, all of you.”

“You’re in heat, hey? As desperate as any animal in four legs, desperate to fuck.” Edward is burning up to be used, touched in any way. 

“Lucky for you that’s what I’m in the mood for tonight,” Solomon says, his left hand cupping Edward’s cock. “Such a nice yard to play with. It shouldn’t go to waste.”

Their kiss is rough, whiskers against Edward’s face, fingers undoing buttons, coats thrown away. A moment’s pause to take off each other’s boots, pushing down their trousers. Solomon lays on top of him, letting him feel all of his weight, the hardness of his cock rubbing against Edward’s. 

“Christ, but you feel good,” he says, looking down at Edward. “All hard and ready for me.”

Solomon pulls away a moment to grab the little bottle of oil on the night table, then he straddles Edward, not a sneer on his face but a wicked smile as he rubs his arse against Edward’s hard cock. 

“Here, get me ready,” he says, handing over the oil. Solomon enjoys being touched, caressed like a fine pet, an exotic feline demanding affection. Edward runs his hands up those strong thighs, so much bigger than his own, all of it solid muscle covered in barely visible hair, a gentle tickle to the touch. The curve of his arse is a gift. Edward runs his fingers down the cleft, looking for the place he’s so rarely called to touch. 

“Don’t tease,” and it’s as much a threat as it’s a request. Edward oils his fingers, looking for the right angle to breach that tight furl of muscle. He wonders how often Solomon asks to be buggered, who are his other lovers. Do they enjoy the way tightness yields to their touch? Do they even notice the way Solomon’s entire body relaxes when he’s touched just so, ready to ask for more?

Edward finds himself moaning, his fingers clenched hard by Solomon’s body. The way he angles himself, taking him deep inside, fractions of an inch at the time. The gentle rocking of his hips matches the thrust of Edward’s fingers, his body welcoming Edward’s attentions.

“There, that’s enough. Let’s have you, hey?”

Solomon oils Edward’s cock, a generous amount that will make a mess of everything. He stares right into his eyes. “Look at me taking you, Edward.”

The way Solomon groans is indecent, so shameless about his enjoyment of Edward’s body. He keeps his body angled just so, rubbing that spot inside against Edward’s cock, not taking him any deeper, just using him for his pleasure. 

Solomon rides him with the curious rhythm of a man who’s seldom been on horseback, the beat of his body the one of his needs, all of him open and tight around Edward. He’s in no hurry to spend, seemingly happy with the stretch of Edward’s cock inside him, the slide of it in and out of his body. 

Edward finds his mind drifting away, so desperate he is to obey the order not to spend until he’s allowed to. He wonders what accident of birth placed this man in his station. Had Solomon been born a gentleman he could have easily been an officer, more natural at commanding men than many of the lieutenants of Edward’s acquaintance. Solomon is not disturbed by imagination, not the kind that rots away at Edward’s soul. Oh, their bedsport is a portent of ingenuity, always new and fresh, but it’s clear he does not question himself the way Edward does. Solomon was born with certainty in his heart. 

“Go on, then. Use that cock of yours properly.” 

Edward thrusts up, the weight of Solomon on top of him a challenge to get his prick to fuck the man as deep and hard as he wants. It’d be easier if Solomon was on his hands and knees, but he won’t allow Edward to take him that way. 

He grabs Edward’s hands and places them on his hips. “I know you can fuck me harder, Lieutenant. Don’t be shy about it.”

There’s nothing to be done but rut and thrust, let his own body sing with need to bury himself inside Solomon, to go so deep inside no doubts would ever find him. The order not to spend is but a faint memory. Edward might have managed to hold on if only Solomon hadn’t started to frig his prick, short pulls on the near the head of his cock to make himself spill all over Edward’s chest, his arse clenching so hard around Edward’s prick it’s hopeless to resist. Edward surrenders himself to pleasure, all sense of self and shame utterly destroyed.

Solomon slides off of Edward’s cock, a faint wince crossing his face. He collapses right next to Edward, laying on his stomach. He looks soft, almost tender as he traces a line down Edward’s cheekbones, his eyelashes. 

“Clean me up, lieutenant,” Solomon mutters, his eyes closed, a small smile on his face. His legs are spread wide; there’s more than enough room for Edward to find his place between them, crouched small and insignificant as he uses his mouth to lick away his spend and the sweat on Solomon’s thighs. Small, delicate licks, as if he wants to taste everything, remember everything from their encounter.

Here, as always, he obeys. Here is safe from ever having to lead.

*

Today Solomon fucks him wearing nothing but his coat. The mirror is angled just so for Edward to see himself on his knees having his face fucked. It’s as if a burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Hours earlier he’d received the latest letter politely telling him there’s no future for him in the Navy. The memory of such a letter no longer exists, Edward is anchored to the here and now by virtue of hard, hot flesh and strong hands.

How Solomon can tell how Edward needs to be treated remains a mystery to him. He rarely asks any questions. He simply acts, issuing orders or holding Edward tight. Today is no exception. No words have been said yet. He pushed Edward to his knees while he opened the placket of his trousers, freeing his half hard cock. Now there’s no sound but for his grunts and Edward’s whimpers. It cannot go on for much longer, not at this brutal pace and relentless hunger.

Without warning Solomon pulls out, coming half in Edward’s mouth, half on his face. He pulls Edward up by his arm, hard enough for him to stumble into Solomon’s embrace. The kiss that follows is full of forgiveness, full of the sweetness that always seems to flow through Solomon’s veins after his climax. It radiates through his skin, warm and vital, right into Edward’s heart.

“To bed with you.”

He undresses Edward carefully, taking his time. It’s as if he knows that even though he’s not yet spent Edward feels at peace. He’s playful with it, never quite touching Edward’s prick but leaning on every sensitive spot with mouth and teeth, fingers and tongue.

Edward is a mess when he comes with three, almost four of Solomon’s big fingers up his arse. Solomon’s spend is still on his face and neck and chest, his own fresh on his stomach and chest. He feeds them both back to Edward before looking at his arse. 

“Look how open you are, you magnificent tart. If only your captain could see you, hey? All of them gentlemen officers walking by, seeing you like this?”

Edward whimpers with delicious shame and fear of having his true nature known. And yet, does Solomon truly know him? What is there about Edward that deserves to be known?

Solomon is so gentle with the washing, covering Edward in kisses. With every encounter he grows more tender, all but putting Edward’s arms around his shoulders, looking for a place to rest his head on Edward’s chest. Edward’s hands are clumsy as he plays with the sergeant’s hair. Tenderness has so rarely been asked of him during such encounters, but it is such a quiet joy to give. 

The conversations between them, so rare at first, become of more and more varied subjects as time goes on. Edward finds himself curious about Solomon for reasons unknown to himself.

“Would you care for me if I was not an officer?” Edward is not unaware of the way some men will fuck the uniform, the rank and everything it stands for regardless of the man who wears it.

Solomon huffs, as if offended by the question. “I’d want you if you were but a common sailor, a steward. I’d want you and your pretty face if you had but the clothes on your back.”

Edward wants to say the same. Solomon would stand proud regardless of trade or rank. The stripes on that redcoat are part of the appeal, but not all of it, not by far. 

“I’d do the same, too,” Edward says, his voice barely audible. Solomon reaches out and holds Edward’s hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles onhis soft skin. This must be what peace is like, Edward thinks. There’s no want or need, no shame or hunger. All of him is sated, all of him is free. 

“When did you know you were like this?”

Solomon looks confused for a moment. Edward rarely asks him such intimate questions, let alone more than once in an encounter. If pressed, Edward couldn’t say where this curiosity came from, but he needs an answer. Whatever force of fate forced his nature to bend this way might have also struck Solomon. 

“There was a reverend back home when I was a boy. Was real proper, not meant for the likes of us. He had a son about my age, prettier than an angel in a church window, all curls and big eyes, the sweetest voice in the choir. I kissed him when I was thirteen. Didn’t even know what I was doing, I just wanted to get close and hold him and then he kissed me back. We didn’t get much of a chance to do more. They moved away the following spring, off to somewhere green and nice. I never saw him again.

“What about you? Was it another middie? My sergeant when I joined up warned me what you young gentlemen get up to. Told me to mind my business unless there was crying.” Solomon lights a cigarette, a small smile on his face “Never bothered me none, not as long as everybody keeps their hands off the ship’s boys.”

Edward doesn’t quite know how to answer. Curiosity about Solomon is one thing, to have those questions tuned to himself quite another. 

The silence goes on too long and the room grows cold. Solomon huffs, a peculiar sound that’s part exasperation, part resignation. He gets up and puts away his cigarette, then he washes himself, not with the efficient motions Edward has observed when he usually cleans himself, nor the careful touches he uses when he takes care of Edward. Rather, his body is tense with anger, strung taut like a finger on a trigger, a rope about to snap. Solomon picks up his clothes from a pile on the floor. First he puts on his shirt. His back faces Edward, all of him tense and muscular as he pulls the fabric down. Then his stockings, his trousers. He’s about to put on a boot and leave—

“It was another midshipman, yes.” Edward’s eyes are down, focused on the floorboards. He notices for the first time how clean Solomon’s boots are. Properly polished as per regulations, yes, but yet somehow more. As if they could be transformed from uniform-issued into something better, something fashionable. 

A sigh. The weight of a body sitting on the bed, the mattress sinking by his side. Again the rasp of clothes against his bare skin, but there’s no shuddering now, no excitement now that their bodies have cooled off. Solomon turns to face him, his hands on Edward’s hair. It’s been growing long almost without him noticing. Forehead against forehead, there’s no need for words. Rather, there’s a vital urgency for words, but Edward knows he doesn’t have them; he so rarely does. He leans forward, his mouth shy against Solomon’s. Solomon kisses back as if he was a stranger, an unknown quantity. 

“Next week?”

“Yeah, next week.” Solomon kisses him again, a bit dirty this time, a gentle bite on Edward’s bottom lip. He gets up the bed, puts his stock back, his waistcoat, his coat and his belt. A quick check in front of the gilded mirror, adjusting his clothing until everything looks right. His hair he leaves for last. Far shorter than Edward’s, it hints at waves and curls all the same, all of it pointing in different directions after their encounter. Edward hadn’t noticed until now just how much he enjoys running his fingers through Solomon’s hair, especially when he rests his head in Edward’s lap, peaceful and content after sex. 

Solomon stands in front of the door, his hand on the handle. He looks at Edward and shakes his head, a sad smile playing on his lips. There are no words of goodbye tonight.

***

Sol never got to marry. No one but Bill Heather knows the full story, proper, but that’s how it goes. No one else needed to hear about it.

Caroline had been told she had a weak heart on account of having had scarlet fever as a girl. Shouldn’t get pregnant, the doctor said, but it made no difference to Solomon; he meant to marry her all the same. He has plenty of nephews and nieces to look after. It was her company he wanted, the softness of her lap, the peace she gave when she ran her fingers through his hair, her clever words. 

Caroline wanted him just as bad, her smile turning wicked when they talked about their life together. They kissed and chatted and found quiet corners to do more with each other, eager for the day they could stop hiding and worrying when they made love.

She died a month before the wedding, the church bans ready to be posted. A family across the street got sick and that was that. Caroline was there no more, her heart no longer beating in this world.

After that Solomon was no longer in the mood for romance, not to think of wives nor sweethearts. It was easier to find companionship and laughter and call himself satisfied by it. No one would know any different just by listening to his words, not even himself. He certainly wasn’t looking for whatever it is he has with Lieutenant Edward, last name never shared.

Solomon should have known better than to let himself tangled up with an officer. He’d never been the sort of soft, delicate boy some toffs favour, all of him strong and big from a young age. He looked as what he was: a northern working class lad, but that had some appeal for others who wanted to be roughed around a bit in exchange for a coin or two. 

There’s not much to be done around the barracks, especially now that no one knows what’s to become of them. There are no rumours about their new posting. Instead, they train and drill and rot to death with boredom. They all drink too much, gamble more than they should, fight when it gets to be too much. It was in such a night that he crossed paths with Edward. 

Solomon had been out to drink until he ran out of coin or got bored, whichever happened first. He’d not been looking for company, not in the mood for the playacting that always comes when you deal with a doxy, no matter how nice. He’d stepped out for a quick piss and there had been Edward, all knots and stuttered words and the prettiest eyes Solomon had seen in ages. If a lieutenant wanted to suck him off in an alley it was only a gift, an unexpected treat.

Meeting him again had been a surprise. Solomon had been half convinced the lieutenant wouldn’t show up at the assignation house, but he’s there and they fuck, a twisted kind of game that Solomon won’t pretend to fully understand but heats his blood all the same. 

It was only meant to be play, nothing but a way to get off without having to pay, but Edward burrows his way into Solomon’s heart. No one should want to be treated so roughly and think they’re truly worthless. Solomon can be trusted to give you the buggering of a lifetime, but it’s not in him to walk out without making sure you’re in one piece first. Whatever dark thoughts haunt Edward’s mind they won’t be allowed to poison the lieutenant’s heart, not if Solomon has anything to say about it.

It’s with these thoughts that Solomon walks back to the barracks. Meeting with Edward always leaves him in a melancholy mood, no matter how sated his body. He’s too old to be so used by a gentleman. He should know better by now that they only want your cock without taking a piece of your heart, too.

*

Solomon knocks on the door two times, then three: their own code. The door opens to the bare room, Edward hiding behind.

Edward looks restless and Solomon can’t put his finger on why. The man is a mystery for all that he’s tried to get a read on him. He prides himself on being a good judge of people. He can tell how a man will be like when they get assigned to Solomon’s squad, who’s lying and who's telling the truth when he’s got to ask questions and dole out punishment. Never read a man wrong when it came to picking them up. He knows what they want from him and what he might get from them in return. Edward hides himself, not purposefully like others, but as if his own nature demands it before his mind has a chance to decide. Officers can be like that, all prickly and proud, just as full of doubt as any green boy on his first day aboard. 

“Not in the mood to play games,” Solomon says. This isn’t what he had in mind when he woke up this morning, what he thought about when he walked to this place. 

They stand in front of each other. He shouldn’t have come. It was bad enough last time and now he’s made it worse. 

Edward reaches out, his hands holding Solomon’s. He steps close, their hands trapped between their bodies, tight enough they can feel their hearts beating. He sighs, his head resting on Solomon’s shoulder as if he’s carrying the weight of the world. There’s nothing to do but to hug the poor bastard, hold him close and rub his back as if he were a lost boy. It feels nice being this close, getting to smell the oil on Edward’s hair, the good soap he uses. A man could get used to this, swaying from side to side, no words getting in the way. It’s sweet enough to want to kiss Edward, a quick peck on his hair, another on his neck, right on the ticklish spot. The rumble of his laughter all bottled up is a treat. A shower of kisses on Edward’s neck, then, all of them quick and wet to make him smile and laugh out loud, his eyes all alight because of Solomon. 

Edward is still smiling when Solomon kisses his mouth, his laughter swallowed, treasured. It’s still joyful, playful, but there’s also need, the kind of hunger that rarely walks side by side with an innocent smile. It feels nice all the same, known territory and all that. Edward’s hands hold on to his back, then his hips, then Solomon’s arse. It always feels nice when Edward does that. He’s too much of a gentleman to give Solomon the kind of grab he used to get when he was but a boy going places he shouldn’t, but there’s honest desire there and Solomon is honest enough to acknowledge he has a weakness for being wanted. 

Edward’s hands are clumsy on Solomon’s coat, struggling with the buttons and the belt. Maybe it’s like the first time you give another bloke a tug and the angle is all wrong. If this is how Edward wants things to go Solomon has no objections. He simply kisses back as carefully as he knows how, trying to read what hints Edward gives, make sure he gets what he needs. 

Edward goes down on his knees in front of him. Not an unusual position, not even with Solomon sitting on the bed, Edward between his spread legs. “Let me,” he whispers and then he rubs his face against Solomon’s crotch, shudders running down his back. Oh, but it feels sweet, the heat of that pretty mouth close to his prick but not close enough. They have all the time in the world tonight, hours and hours and Solomon is a patient man. He’s changed his mind. He’ll play whatever games Edward wants to play.

Edward speaks, his voice broken. “I was told there was a good chance I’d get a posting. I heard it from a friend. A trusted friend. I was told I’d have to be patient and make other inquiries all the same. Yesterday I finally got a letter back. That last hope is gone. My family thinks I’m not doing well here. They said I should go back and stay with them while I wait for news.”

Solomon looks at him. He’s smoking. He doesn’t know what his face looks like. Years as a royal marine have taught him to keep his face blank, let anyone think he’s just as stupid as he looks. Rejection he doesn’t know what to do with, not in this kind of situation. 

Edward rummages in his coat, finds a bottle of wine and drinks. “I wish I could stay, but half pay-”

“Ah, half pay. The secret shame of your lot.” If there’s a sneer on his face or bitterness in his voice Solomon doesn’t give a fuck. It’s not like anyone else makes the kind of money officers do. They all have to make do with what little coin they get. Too many bluecoats have families to support, same for his lads. When officers cry to each other about going on half pay, all red faced and awkward about it, they should do well to remember how lucky they really are. 

Edward looks as if Solomon has punched him and spat on his face. Christ. “Hey, it’s not like you need to keep me in silks or anything.” This place must cost a pretty penny. Bed linen is always clean, a door that locks, better soap than Solomon could afford, hot water for washing. “We could meet somewhere else?”

“I really can’t. My family needs me. I got word from them and —” his voice chokes. “It’s not just about half pay. My brother has not been well lately. I should have left town some time ago.”

Ah, that’d make a man feel ashamed. Can’t be easy to explain why you didn’t rush to your sick brother’s bed because you were too busy getting buggered to hell and back by a marine sergeant. 

What a lie. 

Solomon is not ready to let this go just yet. He’s been used before and it never felt this wrong. It stung his pride not to be the first to end an arrangement of this sort, but it never felt like his heart being torn in half. He grabs Edward’s head, gets his fingers through that lovely dark hair, so rich. He knows he’s holding on too hard, but he can’t help himself and he doesn’t care. He’s finally found a decent thing, a bit of happiness that was all his own and now it’s taken away just like that, a storm that wrecks ships and drowns survivors, all of him forgotten. 

Edward looks up into his eyes, those blasted long eyelashes of his dotted with unshed tears. He looks young, vulnerable, as broken hearted as a boy with his first love. “I won’t forget you, Solomon.”

Ah, bloody hell. He’s not keeping himself locked up as he should. Solomon holds Edward tight, all but crushing him to his chest. There are so many things he could say, but what’s the use? 

“Aye, so say you.” Maybe Edward is thinking what Solomon is thinking, silently realising how unlikely it is that they’ll meet again. If they were to wait for each other in this room, even if Solomon could never afford it on his own. If they are to meet at some pub, as if they’d served on the same ship before, Solomon acting all respectful and diffident to his superior officer. 

If Solomon’s hands shake a bit neither of them say a word. He doesn’t mean to hurry Edward, but every second is precious now that there won’t be any more and he does love to undress Edward, feel him shudder when Solomon undoes the buttons in his trousers, tugs his boots away and throws them across the room. 

“Stay on your back,” Solomon says, standing tall, his clothes rumpled. “Hands on your thighs,” he adds and how beautifully does Edward follow orders. Edward is hard already. If he were to touch himself now it’d all end too soon. 

Solomon doesn’t put on a show for Edward; he’s much too eager to touch. He lays on top of Edward, making him feel all of his weight, feeling the way Edward squirms. A simple fuck to remember for years to come is all Solomon can give. 

He wishes they’d exchange locks of hair like a pair of sweethearts, to be sown into the breast pocket of his coat, right next to his Caroline’s, but Edward is a gentleman and Solomon is not. A few stolen strands will have to be enough.

There will be no next time, that much they know when they kiss goodbye. They can cling on to unspoken hope, those tendrils of faith that fate will put them on each other's path yet again. With each touch of lips and tongue a promise is made and a vow is taken, never to be forgotten. 

And if Solomon sometimes walks by the street where he met his lieutenant, if he stands in front of their assignment house —now a respectable pawn shop—, who’s to say? He’ll get his orders soon enough, he’ll be too busy to let this melancholy take a hold of his thoughts for long. New orders are in the air, an assignment to who knows here. New beginnings should do him good.

**Author's Note:**

> An epilogue will be posted in the near future. Promise!


End file.
